


Coffee-Run

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this inception_kink prompt, "I always see fics where Eames proposes to Arthur. I would like to see a fic where Arthur proposes to Eames instead."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee-Run

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own everything. Except Inception.  
> Notes: No spoilers, could be set during or post movie.

  
"Oh, my darling! But this is so  _sudden_!" Eames exclaims, drawing every eye in the coffee shop to the counter. To  _them_.

"Huh?" Arthur's freezes with his half-caf, non-fat, soy macchiato halfway to his lips, his eyes darting from Eames to the room in general. He's holding a cardboard carton with four caffeinated beverages in it--French Roast, black with no sugar for Cobb; cappuccino for Ariadne; iced chai for Yusuf; tea with obscene amounts of cream and sugar for Eames--and has just handed his credit card to the barista. Said barista's bored eyes tick back and forth between them. She's even stopped smacking her gum.

"Oh, but you couldn't have been a little more traditional? I mean, in a coffee shop, at noon? Whatever happened to scenic, moonlit nights? Why, you don't even have a ring for me!" Eames is going on at what seems like the top of his lungs, flailing about with his hands in a very fuh- _laming_  manner. He even pouts at Arthur, tsking reprovingly. "I'll only consider it if you at least go down on one knee, like a proper suitor."

"Did you wanna maybe try one of our seasonal Raspberry Wow! scones with that?" The barista asks into the flabbergasted silence that follows.

"Uh. No, thank you.  _Dude, are you drunk_?!" Slips out before Arthur realizes that men in ten thousand dollar suits should never use the word  _dude_. At least not where others can hear it.

The barista huffs. "Okay, your total's gonna be $21.35. Would you like to hear about our Coffee Club Rewards Card?"

"No, because he's too much of a cheapie to get one," Eames says for him, taking the coffee carton from Arthur and placing it on the counter. " _Look, I think I've been made, so just be a dear and play along, would you? As if our very lives depended upon it_ ," he hisses quietly through his manic, shit-eating grin. Suddenly going cold, Arthur begins to reach for the gun at the small of his back, but Eames shakes his head once.

Sighing, Arthur puts down his own coffee and quickly replays what Eames said--

_No . . . no way_ , he thinks, scowling murderously. Eames nods and laughs loudly. "Oh, do please humor me, darling? So I can at least tell mummy it was a  _somewhat_  romantic proposal," he says, nodding his head infinitesimally to toward the door, where Arthur can see an attractive, older blonde squinting in their direction, anger and shocked recognition writ large on her fine-featured face.

They've been made.

With one grim nod, Arthur drops gracefully to his knee and takes Eames's large, calloused hand, trusting that Eames--who may be a gad-about, and a flake, but who takes his own survival  _very_ seriously--has some plan in mind. There's nothing else for it, but starting a shoot-out in a coffee shop full of innocent people.

From his one-legged kneel, Arthur clears his throat, and tries to sound like someone who's smitten with Eames, entirely unaware that he merely looks dyspeptic. "Oh, don't be coy, Jack. Honey-cake. Make me the happiest man within spitting distance and say you'll marry me?"

Eames takes a moment to look considering, his eyes twinkling mischievously, damn the man. "Well, we've only known each other for six months,  _Raoul_ \--I wouldn't want to rush anything. . . ."

Sighing again through gritted teeth, he pastes a grimace on his face that might pass for a smile if one were very near-sighted, or very stupid. "Say  _yes_ , sweetums, before the suspense kills me. Or you," he adds under his breath, and that seems to be enough to recall Eames to the peril at hand.

"Right--of  _course_  my answer's  _yes_!" Eames pulls Arthur to his feet by means of tugging his eight hundred dollar tie, and gazes into his eyes with a soppily rapt expression. "A thousand times, _yes_ , my beloved!"

Then he's yanking Arthur forward into very quick, very wet, very  _dirty_  kiss that ends in an embrace that's thankfully tight enough to hold Arthur up, since his knees seem to have turned to jello.

When he opens his eyes and looks over Eames's shoulder, he can see the woman at the door turn around and exit like she never had any intention of coming in. Her head is held high, but her entire body seems to radiate anger and wounded pride.

_I can't believe that worked,_  Arthur thinks, then he's scowling again, because it makes  _absolutely no sense_  that it  _did_  work.

"Eames! Who was that? Interpol?" He demands, knowing as soon as he asks that she couldn't have been. If she had, they'd be in handcuffs, right now. "Some employer you stiffed? Some rich widow you seduced out of her money?"

"Perish the though, darling!" Eames whispers, as if offended. "Her husband's still very much alive."

Arthur bites back a groan as Eames nuzzles his cheek and jaw. "But . . . you  _did_  seduce her out of her money?!"

"Not  _all_  of it. . . ." and yes, that  _is_  Eames's tongue in his ear. And  _no_  Arthur did not just shiver.

He glares daggers at two tourists cooing over a travel mug display, and resists the urge to put a bullet in Eames's head. Here, in Waking Life, people can go to prison for that. And if American prisons are known for one thing, it's the dearth of really good coffee.

"When we get back to the warehouse, I will  _end_  you," Arthur whispers into Eames's ear, biting down hard on the lobe and causing the other man to yelp. "Do you hear me,  _sweetums_? I. Will. _End_  you."

"Understood, love," Eames replies with a wince. Then he's leaning back just enough to pull Arthur into another kiss. It's everything the last kiss had been, only slower, and much,  _much_ longer. Longer than the complete and utter lack of an actual threat can justify.

The barista clears her throat and the patron behind them on line shoves past them with a muttered "'Scuse me, ladies."

Arthur starts reaching behind himself again, uncertain who he's going to shoot first, Eames, or the patron. But a warm hand catches his just before he feels the happiness that is an ass-warmed gun. It's Eames's hand, and Eames pulls it up to his chest, holding it just above his heart.

_Prison_ , Arthur reminds himself, totally unaware that he's leaning into the kiss and moaning, one hand clenching tight on the back of Eames's neck.  _Sweet vengeance back at the warehouse._

That's the last coherent thought he's capable of as his other hand curls into the lapel of Eames's hideous sport coat and  _Eames_ 's other hand settles somewhere below the gun, like it's never belonged anywhere else.

"So, like, will that be debit or credit?" the barista asks in an exasperated tone.

Ten minutes, six customers, and five tepid cups of coffee later, Arthur and Eames are still kissing, and show no signs of ever stopping.

Finally, the shop manager offers to comp their order if only they'll  _leave_ , and never come back.

In the end, they exit the coffee shop with five free (now ice-cold) beverages, three hickies, and one Coffee Club Rewards Card.

"This doesn't mean I won't end you," Arthur grouses petulantly, without looking at Eames. But he can sense the other man's smile, nonetheless.

"Of course it doesn't, darling." Eames chuckles, his hand settling at the small of Arthur's back to steer him toward their, ahem,  _borrowed_  car. "I expect you to  _end_  me at the very next opportunity."

Arthur flushes, doing his best to repress any mental pictures that might try to pop up. He fails. Miserably. "I hate you, Mr. Eames."

The hand on the small of Arthur's back slides past the gun, once more. The squeeze Eames gives him is possessive and full of promise. "Whatever you say, dearest Raoul."


End file.
